Is it time for a nap yet?

No one in my family ever listened so I quickly stopped defending myself. I'd just let her talk and then hang up and try to get into the right headspace to deal with guests on almost no sleep and an empty stomach. My grandpa was diabetic, among other things, so by the end of the week when food was running low I would always make sure he had enough to eat even if it meant skipping meals myself.

I'd go to work, spend 10 or more hours running around trying to keep up with things, chug a cup of cheap scalding tea to try to stay awake for the 40 minute drive, and head towards the market near our house. At the time, they were open until 3am, so as long as I didn't have the late late shifts, I could usually make it.

The third time this happened, there was a man with a bucket and a squeegee sitting the the parking lot. "Clean your windows? Only five dollars or whatever you can give me." His clothes were worn but relatively clean. He was polite and always thanked people even when they told him no. I wanted to help him, but years of being told never to pull my wallet out in a parking lot, to never trust a man late at night, to never trust a beggar made it hard. One night though, I had a five dollar bill in my pocket. A lady had shoved it in there while I was cleaning a bathroom and while we weren't supposed to accept tips, we also weren't supposed to run after guests. So I pulled it out and gave it to him, because it didn't require getting my wallet out. He thanked me profusely and asked which was my car. I told him it was okay, to just take it and pay it forward when he could.

After that, I saw him every time I went late at night. He was always nice and always polite and always asked me how my day was. One night, he said, "I hate to ask, but could you maybe help me with some groceries? My kids are almost out of lunch things." All he wanted was the cheapest loaf of white bread and a half gallon of milk. I said I'd try. It depended on how much I had left after getting my grandpa's things. He smiled and thanked me anyway.

I bought him the bread and milk. I also bought him some apples, because they keep for a while even at room temperature, and some cheap cookies and a packet of lunch meat, because Thanksgiving was coming up and it was all I could do. He cried when I handed him the bag. He told me that he worked all day at a warehouse, how his wife had gotten hurt the year before and they were struggling. How he never wanted to beg but had to. He said he wanted to pay for the extras. I again told him to pay it forward when he could. Because I truly hoped that things would get better.

I only ever told one other person about those nights. I didn't want people to accuse me off bragging, of trying to show that I was better off. Because I wasn't. I was very close then to being where he was. I just hoped that someday someone would do the same for me. I saw him twice more on those late night runs, both times he was washing someone's windows but he waved and called out hello.

The market changed their hours not long after and ended those late night trips. I never saw him again but even now, over ten years later, I hope more than anything that he's doing okay. That his family is okay. I hope things got better.